


Come Home

by study_in_orchid



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, PTSD, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/study_in_orchid/pseuds/study_in_orchid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock come back to the flat after three years hiding from Moriarty's men and saving everyone he loves. But when he comes back, John is less than pleased. John refuses to take Sherlock back in. And when he does, John finds something buried deeper than scar tissue. Something he knows too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Back

I had always been alone, that feeling of emptiness - no, of longing - was beyond familiar to me. I had always wanted someone. Someone to want me, to hold me…To tell me things were going to be okay - for once. And then came John. It was like he was the answer to every question I had been afraid to ask. I fell in love with him before I had finished deducing whether it was Afghanistan or Iraq. Watching him struggle with relationships brought a sad smile to my lips, because no matter what he wouldn’t see me beyond a flat mate. Or that was what I forced myself to think every day for three years. Ever since the day John stood over my grave and I realized maybe he loved me, too.  
And as I watched him sleep - naked except for the pair of red pants that I always teased him about - my heart started to beat just a little too fast, my breathing hitched and accelerated. The tell-tale signs of attraction. Maybe this is what Jim noticed - the true terror in my eyes at the thought of losing the one person who changed longing to pure desire - the night at the pool when he gave John back to me. Covered in a vest of explosives. Jim was the monster parents told their children about at night, I forced myself to focus on John. My dear Watson.  
He twitched and I noticed the sheen of sweat on his brow. Post-traumatic stress. My death had reawakened the demons buried in his head. It was my fault as I watched him toss and turn, eventually waking with an almost scream. I sat on the bed near him and pulled his trembling body against mine - the way I had wanted to since the day I faked my death. “It’s okay, John,” I whispered. “I’m here now.”  
It took him a moment to grab on to me and he began to sob into my chest - his tears dripping through the purple fabric of my shirt. “Sherlock, no, please don’t go again,” he managed to choke out a few words and suddenly I knew what his nightmares were about. There wasn’t images of the war anymore, there was only me, falling…  
Slowly, I lay down, keeping my arms around his shaking shoulders, “John, this one isn’t a dream. I am here.” He shook his head, not believing me. How could he? He had checked my pulse, and, like magic, it wasn’t there. He watched me die. I held him closer, “John, I love you and I am so sorry.”  
“Why’d you go, Sherlock? I was so alone.”  
“I had to, John. Jim would have killed you otherwise. I couldn’t live without you.”  
“Then why make me live without you?!” He sat up, glaring into my eyes, begging for an answer. An answer I still didn’t have after all these years.  
I ran my thumb over his cheek, wiping away the tears, and pulled him back down to me. My heart was beating in my throat, threatening to choke the life out of me if I didn’t give in. Hesitantly, I pressed my lips against his and knew that it would never be enough. After a second, John returned the kiss. And it deepened, until neither of us could breathe. John spoke first, “I have dreamed of that since the day I lost you, Sherlock.”  
“I have wanted to kiss you since the day we met. John, I love you.”  
“I love you, Sherlock Holmes. How did you do it?” He asked as he snuggled against my chest. I waited a moment, memorizing the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.  
“Come, John. You already know.”


	2. Giving In

John woke slowly the next morning, not remembering anything except the strangest dream the night before. I watched him as his sleep faded and he realized that this wasn’t a dream. I had come back. My arms were still wrapped firmly around him and one hand was drawing absent shapes just above the waist band of those obnoxious red pants he was so fond of. “Sher….Sherlock?” He muttered, obviously confused.  
I held on a little tighter, “I’m right here John. I’m not going anywhere this time.”  
“Why did you go?” I heard the smallest hitch in his voice as he started to pull away, fighting tears. There wasn’t a metaphor that I liked, but in that moment one felt too beyond real - one line that couldn’t happen, but I could feel it happening. My heart broke.   
“John…I…” I couldn’t find the words. I had rehearsed answering him so many times, but with him there, my answer didn’t seem like enough. “I had to protect you. I didn’t want to go.”  
The doctor pulled away, jumping out of the bed and I could see the fire in his blue eyes, the fear and anger flowing out in forms of tears that were too real. “By leaving me?! Sherlock, you were…you were everything to me. I would rather have died than lose you.” He turned away from me, his hand clenched in fists at his sides.  
I felt my world crashing around this moment, “John, I came back. I had to wait until it was safe, for you.” I stood, reaching out for him. When my fingers brushed his shoulders, he stepped further away. Slowly - too slowly - he faced me.  
“Maybe…maybe I don’t want you back.” His voice was soft, but harsh. He meant it.  
“You are just mad and hurt, John.” I pleaded, “Please, don’t say that.” Swallowing tears, I tried to sound as detached as usual, but it was so much harder when John was involved. “John, I love you, I had to do that for you.”  
John froze, I could see his mind racing, but then the facade of the soldier broke through and he wiped his eyes, stood almost too straight and spoke, coldly. “I did love you, Sherlock, but I don’t know any more. You should go.”   
I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t think. John wasn’t taking me back… I watched as he walked to the bathroom, flinching as I noticed the psychosomatic limp was back. I collapsed to my knees as he disappeared, too numb - too shocked - to even cry. I only had one place to go now.  
——-  
Lestrade paled noticeably as he opened the door to find me. I still hadn’t told him I was alive. He stammered and I interjected, “Can I stay with you for a couple days, Lestrade?”  
He rallied after a moment, “What about John?”  
“He told me to leave.” I faltered and cried for the first time since John stood at my grave three years ago…


	3. Pushing Back

I was running and running and yet John never seemed to get closer. He spread his arms like he was about to grow wings and in the glow of the sunlight, I could almost make out feathers. He was embracing the air, the warmth of the sun. And I was running with a panic in my chest that wouldn’t die. The roof of St. Bart’s had never felt longer and in my adrenaline-laced frenzy, I stumbled more times than I could count. The stone was still stained with Jim’s blood from that damned afternoon; no amount of scrubbing could scour that memory from my head. The stain spelled out the letters I O U, but that wasn’t causing my fear. I slowed so that I wouldn’t plow into John as I raced to stop him. My best friend began to fall, his cardigan slipped from the tips of my fingers, the sun warmed wool moving just out of my reach. John rolled in the air so that his blue eyes were locked on mine as he fell. “Keep your eyes trained on me….”  
———————  
I woke, screaming John’s name and breaking out in a cold sweat. The bed I was in was unfamiliar to me and I almost panicked, but remembered. Lestrade was letting me stay with him until I could find another flat, I was in a spare bedroom, and had just woken from a nightmare. “Sentiment.” I whispered, the word felt weird when not formed as a question. “Oh, John…”  
I couldn’t fall back to sleep so I dressed quietly and left my temporary room. Greg was being forced to sleep on the couch again. He and his wife fought almost every night, but he insisted things had been better since he left the police force. That really made me wonder what it was like when Lestrade was married to his job. Without thinking, I left the house and began walking, letting myself get lost in various deductions about people’s lives from the state of their homes. After an hour, I glanced at a door and was floored. 221B. I had made it to Baker Street. Speedy’s had just opened for the day, so I walked in, grabbed a coffee, two sugars, and sat in one of the cafe tables across the street.  
I don’t know why I waited, why I watched, but by noon, I had started to get bored staring at the door to my old home. Slowly, I gathered myself and was about to walk back to Lestrade’s when the door opened and John stepped out, cane in hand. He dropped the house key and I noticed the line of red above the waistband of his pants as he bent to pick them up. I smiled, not quite knowing why he was so obsessed with those red y-fronts. With medical precision, he locked the door, turned with military crispness, and began to walk away. I decided to follow him, but my thoughts were a blur and for once in my life, I didn’t have a clue what I was going to do to make him take me back.


	4. Fighting For

I followed John for over a mile; his movements were sporadic. After an hour of shadowing him, I couldn’t deduce where he was going next. I hid in plain sight, trying to gather my thoughts. All my preparation didn’t stop my heart from shattering as I followed him to his destination.  
The Cemetery. “John,” I whispered. “why torture yourself here?” I was too far behind for him to hear me, but I knew exactly where he was going. A black granite tombstone with my name inscribed on it. He placed the flowers he had just bought on the ground in front of it as I hid myself close enough to hear him as he sat in front of my empty grave and talked to the me that was never there.  
“Sherlock..” He whispered my name and my soul drank the syllables from his lips, “I don’t know what to do anymore. When you were gone, I could talk to you here and feel some healing. Now you aren’t here,” he tapped the ground in front of him, “- I know, I know, you never actually were…here. But I felt you die, Sherlock! Your pulse was gone; your blood still stains the ground. Why didn’t you tell me anything? It took you leaving for me to see the I.O.Us throughout London. I still believe in you, you were…are the most human human being I have ever met. But in the real world, I guess Goliath wins. I miss you so much, Sherlock. I will always love you.”  
I walked behind him as his resolve broke and he cried into his hands. “John…I couldn’t let Jim kill you.” He turned to face me, wiping his tears away quickly, but the red rims of his too blue eyes gave him away, “I meant it, when I said I only had you. He was going to kill you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson if I didn’t kill myself. I tried to tell you that it was a trick…”  
John stood, anger and something else I couldn’t decipher burning in his gaze. I trailed off and readied myself for the pain I knew would come. After a moment, he still said nothing. “John…”  
“Sherlock! Enough. You don’t know what I went through for you. After the fall.” He bellowed, “It’s not okay!”  
I fell to my knees, “I know what you went through. I watched you every day since that day. I saw the evolution of your limp again.” I pointed at his cane. “I watched you fall apart and as soon as I knew you were going to be safe, I ran back to you.” He turned away, grabbed his cane, and began to walk away. “John!” The doctor stopped, “Please let me come home…”


	5. Setting Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short Chapter Sorry

There was a long moment of silence, a silence so crushing that I could barely breathe. “John?”  
The doctor sighed. “Sherlock, without you…Without you that flat isn’t home.” He turned to face me. “It’s hell. I woke up every morning for the last 3 years, expecting your experiments in the kitchen, the sound of your violin, at the very least a few eyes in the microwave. And every day it didn’t happen…” He trailed off, choking back tears. “Every day it didn’t happen. And I relived your jump. Again and again.”  
Still on my knees, I began to interrupt, but he cut me off. “I miss you, Sherlock. God, I miss you. But I can’t lose you again.”  
“John, I’m not going anywhere. I followed you all day, trying to think of what to say, but I…I can’t. There aren’t words for this.” I stood, and crossed to him, taking one of his hands in mine. I couldn’t tell if it was conscious or not, but he felt for my pulse, looking for realization that I was actually there. “I’m here now, John, I love you. Please let me come home.”  
He tried to turn away, but my grip was solid on his wrist. I wasn’t going to let him run away this time. “Sherlock…” Tears formed in the corners of his eyes and I put my free hand to his face, wiping them away. The last thing I had ever been was impulsive and sentimental, but I couldn’t stop the need in my heart. Softly, I pressed my lips against his chapped ones, afraid to go much further than that without consent. I was happily surprised when I felt his hand go to my curls, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss. It was too perfect, so amazing, and over far too soon. “Sherlock, I don’t know what is going on. I don’t know if I can stand being your flat mate again, but I need you. Come home.”  
Smiling that smile I reserved only for him, I kissed John again. “Of course.”  
His cane lay dejected on the ground as we left the cemetery behind. Things weren’t okay, but they were better.


	6. Making Nice

We walked slowly back to the flat. Making small talk, neither of us wanted to say what was on our hearts and minds. That night I slept in John’s bed, holding him like he would disappear if I let go. Surprisingly, he held me the same way. When it got very late, John began to twitch as nightmares took control. Softly, I detached myself from his arms and walked down to the living room, where I had left my violin after talking to Moriarty… I pulled my bow over the strings in a soft sonata and after a few bars, John’s distress eased. I knew I would get hell in the morning for playing my Stradivarius. The familiar wood warmed under my fingers and it almost felt like no time had passed since the day at St. Bart’s.  
After he was back to sleep, I sat in my chair - bow still in hand - and thought. 3 years ago, my greatest enemy and I matched wits on a hospital rooftop. He shot himself through the back of the skull and I fell to my “death”. James Moriarty. The only man to play the game as well as I did. London became an altogether boring city and he gave me reprieve. It wasn’t okay. Jim made me feel something…NO! I wouldn’t think it. Not again. My attraction to him couldn’t exist. I dropped my head to my hands. Every moment of the day he was here was too vivid. I noticed too much that didn’t matter. The timbre of his voice as he threatened me, the curve of his fingers around his pocket knife as he expertly carved out the letters I O U, the shape of his lips as they curled into that devil smile. There was attraction, I couldn’t deny it. But Jim was gone and that was all that mattered now.  
John rose with the sun and I waited for him to dress and come to join me downstairs. “Sherlock?” His voice sounded panicked and it broke me.  
“Down here, John. I couldn’t sleep so I played my violin.” I called back up to him. Slowly, I ascended the stairs to John’s room. The doctor stood before the bed in nothing but those bright red underwear. His stomach had thinned almost back to his PTSD days, I had to make sure he started to eat again.. But his form was the same as I remembered, the same I dreamed about. Skin slightly tanned, goldened by the sunlight that filtered in through the window, muscles sloping perfectly in a way that would have shamed Adonis, scars that showed he had seen hell and come back. John was handsome and I felt a new stirring as I admired him from the doorway. “John…” Those sky blue eyes met mine with an intensity that stole my breath away. “You are perfect.


	7. Breaking Down

John smiled, “Where were you?”  
“I couldn’t sleep, I forgot what it felt like to sleep near someone.” I struggled to remain coherent as the majesty that was my dear Watson awakened long silenced feelings. The doctor noticed my struggle and walked a few steps closer. He stopped just close enough that my heart skipped a beat. “John…”  
He surprised me by placing his hands in my curls and pulling my head toward his. Teasingly, he kissed me, but hunger for more of him caused me to lose civility. I was not in a playing mood. Pulling his hips closer to mine, I deepened the kiss, letting my tongue explore and discover the tastes of him. John needed no more encouragement.  
I pulled him back to the bed we had shared, not once breaking the connection of our lips. His hands traveled under my t-shirt and mine found the skin beneath his waistband. I broke to breathe and then kissed along the hollow of his neck. Tracing his collarbone with my tongue. He moaned and rocked his hips into my leg. “Sherlock, you machine…”  
Jim’s face flashed before my eyes and I broke away, pushing John off of me. “Sherlock?” Concern barely masked disappointment.  
Tears filled my eyes, this is what I had wanted for so long, and now I had it. John was here, he was with me, and I was showing him what I had always wanted to. But I couldn’t do it. Even after his death, Moriarty was ruining me.


	8. Saving Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this is inspired by this art. http://25.media.tumblr.com/93f6f1022a62f668e89994227e00255f/tumblr_mkqnb4nm3U1rdc6ego1_500.png

I dropped my head to my hands, swallowing back tears that fell anyway. Jim…The fall..Moriarty….IOU….John…Three years….IOU…Richard Brook….IOU….IOU… .I…O…  
I felt a hand on my shoulder. John. Nothing else mattered, no thought lasted beyond his touch. This man had saved me once. If anyone could get me past this, it was this doctor. “John…” I didn’t have words, but that was a barrier that was easy to pass. I leaned back into his chest and he wrapped his arms around my bare chest. The feel of his skin soothed me. “I’m sorry…”  
“Hush, ‘Lock. It’s okay,” He held me closer, “I know. I understand.” I turned and buried my nose into the hollow of his neck. “Jim haunts me too. That devil grin never fully leaves my mind.” I glanced up, letting confusion color my features. “While you were gone, I had to take over. The world still needed one consulting detective. I learned. I’m not nearly as good as you are though.”  
I smiled a little, echoing my doctor, “That was brilliant. What gave me away?” Nuzzling closer, I folded myself as much as I could into him. He placed a hand on my head and stroked my curls softly. Even just as flat mates, he knew me more intimately than anyone and knew how to tame my rampant heart mind.  
“You got really pale, like you did the day Moriarty appeared at the pool. That was the only time I saw you falter. The only time I ever saw you truly at a loss. And, other than in Baskerville, it was the only time I had ever seen you scared.” He chuckled, “You could look down the barrel of a gun and not bat an eyelash. But Jim…knew how to trigger you.”  
“Have you deduced how?” I asked nervously.   
John’s hand stilled. “To this day, I have no idea. I’ve gone through it again and again. I don’t know.”  
Propping myself up to gaze into his blue eyes, I whispered, “He had you. At the pool, at St. Bart’s before the fall. He had you. You were in danger and I’d do anything to save you.”  
Those eyes crinkled in the corner as he smiled at me, “You idiot. I was in the army, I killed people. I can protect me. Alone”  
“No, John. Friends protect people.”  
“And lovers?”  
“Do this.” I kissed him softly and pushed him back onto the bed


	9. Gaining Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More explicit Johnlock

John landed on the mattress with a sigh and propped himself up on his elbows as I observed him. The smooth skin - the subtle muscle definition - of his chest and stomach called to me. It had been so long since John and I had an intimate moment and I was planning on taking full advantage of his craving. But my hunger for him could have been greater than his. With the acceleration of both our hearts, I knew this was going to have to mean something. Blue eyes watched me as I lowered myself to him. My hands on either side of his arms and my knees on either side of his. I brushed my lips against his and was rewarded with a moan so beautiful I was almost lost from the start. I pushed his shoulders down, pinning him beneath me.  
Slowly, I unbuttoned my trousers, desperate for as much of his skin as I could get. Pressing myself closer to the doctor, I smirked at the forming erection that aligned with mine. John wiggled enough to rub us together and I caught my breath. I was becoming unhinged. With a ferociousness almost foreign to me, I kissed his neck - nipping at the sensitive cluster of nerves that laid there. My doctor moaned again. My lips, tongue and teeth traveled over his collarbone, down his pectoral muscles, - paying extra attention to the hard nub of his nipples - across his lower ribs, and down to his hip bones. He was almost begging by the time I began to remove his red pants. The marvelous member that greeted me was almost too much.  
I wrapped my slender fingers around him and received another delicious moan. Gently, I slipped one finger of my other hand into his hole, and he shuddered with pleasure. "Sherlock," my name on his lips caused my heart beat to increase even more. "Please fuck me." His tenor voice trembled as I pushed another finger inside him. Closing his eyes, he licked his lips and I opened him up enough to grant his wish. With one thrust, I was inside him and it felt better than I had remembered. John moaned my name and I rose to meet his lips with mine.  
"Am I good, John?" I asked, suddenly afraid to hurt him. A gentle nod answered me. I moved inside him, losing myself in every sound Watson made. He came quicker than expected and hearing him release pushed me over the edge. I pulled out, coming over the bedspread. Spent, I rested my head on his chest. John's fingers ran through my hair as we caught our breaths.  
"You are incredible, 'Lock," John muttered when he could. I smiled and got up slowly to clean up. The doctor went downstairs for tea and we sat in the living room, talking and drinking tea and laughing and gaining more ground back to us. Night fell and as I made for my room, John spoke up. "Sherlock, sleep with me."  
I didn't need another invitation.


	10. Losing It

To save John, I left. I left everything - everyone - I had ever cared about. To save John, I disappeared and hesitated to return - to look back. To save John, I destroyed him. And as I watched the soldier sleep, his breathing calm, controlled, and impeccably even, I regretted everything. The rise and fall of his chest reminded me that he was alive and that for all the years I was “dead”, John had been alive and had to answer for my mistakes. I had seen the papers, I knew what they said about me. Suicide of Fake Genius. Oh I knew. If only they did too.   
Jim. That bastard stole everything from me. I drifted into a fitful sleep with his devil smile in my head.  
Molly smiled at me, trying too hard to gain my affections. Using jealousy as bait, Jim from IT. He was gay, it took 3.8 seconds to gather as much. I wondered how long it took for him to gather the same. I was nice enough, but his entire being turned me off. And then came the game. The mastermind appeared and turned me around. I could no longer be anonymous, I had to gain fame and be in the spotlight. And when John showed up at the pool, I was so lost. There was so much horror in thinking maybe, the man I was beginning to trust was the man who would ruin my life. But his words were stiff and his blinking was erratic. Then I saw it. Morse code. Three short blinks. Three long blinks. Three short blinks. S.O.S. Then there he was - Jim from IT. I knew there had been something about him. “Sherlock,” he cooed, so soft in mania. “Here is your chance. Me or him, Sherlock.” The way he said my name twisted my gut and yet the power, the madness, did something to me.   
“Sherlock, no. Please, don’t choose him.” John was in street clothes again, no bomb, just the sandy colored jumper, red pants peaking out of his jeans, and those blue eyes, full of tears, pleading with me.   
“Tell him, Sherlock, how you already chose me.” The scene shifted to a bedroom, silk sheets the same color as pool water. A purple shirt in a mass on the floor, just above red pants. I was touching someone, my hands drifting across scarred skin. John? I couldn’t speak, but to moan in pleasure as my cock slid in and out of the body I was holding. It had to be John, there was no one I could trust with this. I closed my eyes and reached for his blond hair and then he spoke with that voice that made my blood run cold. “You chose me, Sherlock Holmes.”

Hands were on my shoulders, shaking me awake. I screamed as clarity eluded me. A dream? It felt too real, like a memory. “Sherlock?” John’s voice sounded wrong and I opened my eyes to that devil smile.


	11. Leaning In

Jim’s brown eyes crinkled at the corner as I woke with a scream. I heard whimpers, John, but I was scared to look away. A cold hand traveled over my cheek, “Did you miss me, Lock?” He stole John’s nickname for me and his hand cupped my chin forcing me to stay trained on him.  
“Moriarty?” I struggled to speak as his grip tightened on my throat.   
“Surprised?” He purred into my ear, leaning closer to me. His lips inches from mine. I tried to force down the blood rushing to my cheeks. The fatal attraction that we shared was stronger than I liked to remember. But my body couldn’t forget the feel of his, pressed closer than was innocent. John cowered in the corner, blood dripped from a gash above his left eyes. But the whimpers weren’t from physical pain, they were from realizing what transpired between Jim and I. Moriarty’s hands moved to my shoulders, one forced my lips to close the distance between us.  
——-  
“Sherlock?” Hands were on my shoulders, shaking me conscious. “Lock?” Blue eyes replaced brown as I woke to John. “Are you okay?” I buried my head into his chest, letting tears fall only because I couldn’t stop them. After a moment of hesitation, he wrapped his arms around me. I pulled back and traced every inch of his face, focusing on where there was a massive gash only moments ago. I kissed him softly. “Sherlock, are you okay? You woke me up with your screaming.”  
“It was just a nightmare, John.” It was so real though.


	12. Falling Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting back to writing. Short, short chapter

The nightmares had become too real, every night I would wake screaming to John's worried face until I decided I couldn't sleep again. My doctor was getting used to my presence again and before long I could see the familiar tells of love in his eyes. Since my return, I only had the heart to love John through soft kisses and holding onto him like he was everything. After the night I attempted to reclaim him, I had pulled away. Not staying full nights in his arms. Instead I stared out at Baker Street, the calm, so distasteful. This is what I found myself doing again one night a week after John and I had fallen back into rhythm. He was out for the evening, fast asleep in the bed that I had vacated hours ago. A cup of steaming coffee warmed my hands as I watched the lonely street. Few people walked the sidewalk, a couple celebrating an anniversary - fifth by my deduction, a pair of lovers getting over a spat about her cheating, and a lone man. Nothing interesting so I glanced away for a moment to yawn. When I looked back, something had changed. Three windows had gone black across the road, second floor. The hair on the back of my neck stood on edge as apprehension gripped me. One by one by one the lights snapped back on reveling red letters - I O U.


End file.
